


You Must Reap What You Sow

by thevoicesfromazkaban



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-05-26
Updated: 2014-08-15
Packaged: 2018-01-26 14:07:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 12,572
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1691033
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thevoicesfromazkaban/pseuds/thevoicesfromazkaban
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry in Azkaban and is COMPLETELY INSANE, see inside for full summary and READ THE WARNINGS!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

Summary: Harry has been in Azkaban for nearly fifteen years. Accused of a crime he didn't commit, he may not necessarily have his sanity when the Wizarding World realizes what it has done it its Savior. What havoc will the unhinged son of a marauder wreak when he is released from Azkaban? What will happen when Harry faces Voldemort? Alive!Sirius Alive!Barty Crouch Jr.

WARNINGS: THIS WILL BE A DARK FIC! While there may not necessarily be smut (maybe some), there will be EXPLICIT torture and the like. Abuse, Torture, Toys, Angst, Body Modification, Blood Play, Hurt/Comfort, Mind Control, M/M, Main/Minor Character Death, Spanking, Violence

I have read recently, AFTER I BEGAN THIS FIC, a story called "Harry Potter and the Dark Knight" by Denial and Deception on FFnet. I would like to make it known that, while this story may have some parallels to that one, it is NOT a parody. I have taken several aspects of Heath Ledger's Joker and put them into Harry's personality (i.e. face paint, though NOT the same as the Joker's), though this story will not have a "Batman" character. This is not a xover/parody of The Dark Knight.

A/N: I thank you all for taking the time to read and/or follow this story! I would like to stress one more time that this is a DARK fic! THANK YOU FOR READING AND PLEASE REVIEW!

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, nor do I make any money from the writing of this fiction. No copyright infringement is intended.

Prologue

Azkaban, December 30, 2008

The cold and depressing Island of Azkaban didn't receive many visitors besides the guards patrolling the damp and dreary halls of the most notorious prison in the entire Wizarding world. Albus Dumbledore and Sirius Black walked its shore from the docks shaking off the effects of the soul sucking dementors, whilst Albus reflected on the trial that had condemned their boy hero to this bleak fate.

-Flashback-

Cornelius Fudge sat atop the throne-like chair of Courtroom Ten, Dementors swirling around above him and the rest of the Wizengamot.

They had arrested Harry immediately when he had come out of the maze with Cedric's body, not even giving him a chance to speak before they stunned him. He had been brought before the Wizengamot the next day, after having been in a cell at the Ministry guarded by a Dementor. Fudge had let the Prosecution go first, not telling Harry he had a right to defense, or even letting him say something before he moved on.

All of Harry's friends had testified against him, jumping at the chance to say how he had been more withdrawn this year. Ron had even told them about his brief betrayal, spinning it to make it look like he had been the in the right, rather than just a jealous prick.

Albus remembered looking into Harry's eyes after Cornelius had told of the Wizengamot's decision. He vividly remembered those green eyes losing their passion and fight instantly, and turning into those of one who had been condemned to a life of suffering. Within minutes those bright green eyes had turned dull.

Albus had reveled in complete satisfaction that seeing those once bright full of life eyes completely snuffed into their new completely dull state.

-End Flashback-

Fifteen years had passed since the boy hero was condemned, no one realized until too late just exactly what they had done.

Christmas day the residents of Wizarding Brittan finally came to see just what fate they had led themselves to from all those years ago. Voldemort was actually back; content to sit back for fourteen and a half years planning and gaining allies internationally, just bidding his time waiting for the perfect time to strike.

Christmas day would not be the same for many years to come. Panic everywhere as Voldemort attacked Hogsmeade causing mass chaos, the air thick with the scent of fear. Voldemort hiding his glee to the presence of Dumbledore, baiting him and gloating about everything the framing of Harry for Cedric's murder was the cherry on the top even if it wasn't intentional.

With their closed minded views and quick to blame personalities had just helped to quicken Voldemort's plans, who was he to complain? Once he was happy that the village was in ruins and unrecognizable Voldemort and his death eater's portkeyed away.

Albus had gone directly to the Minister, now Rufus Scrimgeour after Fudge had been voted out of office on a vote of no confidence, and told him what happened. Scrimgeour had immediately signed the release forms, though Albus had waited to fetch Harry in order to let the others know and get ready for him.

Thus, he was here, on Azkaban Island, with Sirius, walking to the Warden's office to fetch their Savior.

When they reached the office, a tall, slender man greeted them. He had dirty blond hair, and wore Auror robes, only these with a black trim, signifying his guardianship of Azkaban.

"Hello, Headmaster Dumbledore, Mr. Black. I am Warden Schmeisman. How can I help you?"

"Hello, Warden. We are here to take Harry Potter home," Albus replied, handing the warden the release form.

The eyes of the warden grew cold, and his face closed off at the mention of Harry's name. He read the form and looked back up at the men before him. "Everything seems to be in order." With that he walked into the prison.

They began to traverse many floors downwards. Sirius got pale, and whispered to Albus, "The farther down you go here, the more Dementors on patrol." Albus looked at Sirius, eyes wide, regret filling them.

Oblivious to what was going on around him, the warden began to talk. "I must warn you, gentlemen, that Mr. Potter may not have all his mental faculties. You may be shocked as to what you see."

The men looked at the warden as he turned his head to see their reactions. "One night, a few years into his sentence, Mr. Potter…broke, I guess you would say. One night, he went from a catatonic state to clawing at his arms and face. Luckily, an Auror was patrolling a few hundred yards away and heard Mr. Potter's screams. When they finally stunned him, the damage he had inflicted upon himself was…extensive. We are not allowed to heal the prisoners beyond making sure they do not die, so we were never able to get rid of his scars. Now, all he does is mutter incoherently to his self and…write, I guess. It's weird though, he writes his words on the paper into shapes…" he trailed off, thinking about Harry. "We never could figure out how he got the paper or the ink," he murmured quietly to himself.

As they descended further, the party began to start feeling the effects of the Dementors more. They walked for about half an hour, until they reached the stone end of the staircase. In front of them was a metal door with a small hole, presumably for food.

The warden looked them both in the eye as he said, "I must warn you. He is different."

He pulled out his wand and touched it to a nondescript point on the door. He muttered under his breath a long phrase in Ancient Gaelic. The door swung open to reveal a room bathed in soft light emanating from a flame flickering up near the ceiling. The cell was about six feet tall, seven feet wide and ten feet deep. It was sparse, with a cot, and the drawings that the warden had been speaking of. They all depicted two kinds of scenes: either where someone was killed or tortured brutally, or where people were in groups, laughing and smiling. The thing that made these drawing creepy was that they were drawn with either of two words: the ones of death or torture were drawn with the word "comedy", and the ones of happiness, with the word "tragedy".

However, this was not what caught Albus or Sirius's attention. What they were staring at was the small form that had only been able to grow a couple of inches in height in fifteen years. A man that was twenty-eight but looked that of a boy the mere age of thirteen. A man whose name was Harry Potter.

It was only when he turned to look at the two that they realized exactly what the warden had been talking about.

YMRWYS- YMRWYS- YMRWYS- YMRWYS

A/N: PLEASE REVIEW AND TELL ME WHAT YOU THINK! SHOULD I CONTINUE THIS OR NOT? I NEED TO KNOW? Thanks…

FYI, I haven't decided yet, but I think I will add a pairing to this story. It will probably be HP/BC Jr., but IDK. But the pairing will be SLASH! This, however, does not mean that it will mellow Harry's insanity, but I figured that a little romance between two batshit crazy people would be interesting…

PLEASE LET ME KNOW IF I SHOULD CONTINUE THIS! THANKS!

 


	2. Chapter 1

A/N: Thanks to those who have read and reviewed!

Pyro: No, those are not dreams from Voldemort’s mind. They are pictures of what he desires to do to the others, specifically those who betrayed him, when he gets out.

Hey, I accidentally posted the wrong chapter for those of you who read it before I caught it. Here is the correct one. Enjoy!

WARNINGS: See Prologue

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, nor do I make any money from the writing of this fiction. No copyright infringement is intended.

Chapter 1

He pulled out his wand and touched it to a nondescript point on the door. He muttered under his breath a long phrase in Ancient Gaelic. The door swung open to reveal a room bathed in soft light emanating from a flame flickering near the ceiling. The cell was about six feet tall, seven feet wide and ten feet deep. It was sparse, with a cot, and the drawings that the warden had been speaking of. They all depicted two kinds of scenes: either where someone was killed or tortured brutally, or where people were in groups, laughing and smiling. The thing that made these drawing creepy was that they were drawn with either of two words: the ones of death or torture were drawn with the word “comedy”, and the ones of happiness, with the word “tragedy”.

However, this was not what caught Albus or Sirius’s attention. What they were staring at was the small form that had only been able to grow a couple of inches in height in fifteen years. A boy who was twenty-eight, who looked like he was thirteen. A boy whose name was Harry Potter.

It was only when he turned to look at the two that they realized exactly what the warden had been talking about.

Harry’s face had scars. Many of them. You could tell that his eyebrows and the skin around them had been completely clawed off once. There were scars at the top of his cheeks, where the skin, fat and muscle had been clawed away. He didn’t have enough skin on around his eyes for there to be smile or frown lines. His forehead had eight claw marks down it, where eight of his fingers had attempted to pull away the skin of his face. He had torn off the tips and lobes of his ears. His cheeks were…thin. The skin looked freshly grown, and was full of claw marks. And his lips… They were almost nonexistent, and currently pulled into a frown. Two extremely thin lines of red were all that remained, not that you could tell. There were portions of his arms where there was no skin, just muscle. There were deep scars. Some of the wounds on his arms were still bleeding.

The creepiest thing about him, though, was his face paint. It was pure white, as though liquid chalk. It covered his face, from the middle of his neck, to past his hair line. What was left of his ears were white as well. However, a thick line of pitch black paint stretched from one side of the back of his lower jaw, up and across his lips, and down to the other side of his jaw, in an ever-present frown.

Albus and Sirius were shocked to say the least. They had not expected something of this magnitude to have happened to Harry. Albus was the first to break out of his stupor. “Harry-“

“Tragedy,” they heard, in a voice that sounded rough, not from disuse, but from having been screamed hoarse.

“Pardon, Harry?”

“I said, ‘Tragedy.’ My name. Tragedy.” (A/N: Please note, from now on, I will call Harry Tragedy.)

Albus and Sirius looked confused for a second, before nodding their acquiescence, though still skeptical. “Tragedy, then. We are here to take you back home. You have been found innocent, my boy.”

“I am not a boy, no matter how I look. Especially not yours.” With that, he flicked his wrist, and a trunk appeared, and his sheets and drawing neatly put themselves inside of it. Albus and Sirius both gasped. Wandless magic was extremely difficult. Albus and Voldemort both could only manage a minor-level stunner, nothing more. And Tragedy had managed to conjure something. Wandlessly. Within the magic-dampening fields of Azkaban, where both Albus and Voldemort could only cast stunners, with the aid of a wand. Then, Tragedy made the trunk disappear, and he made to exit the cell. Sirius held out his hand, though Tragedy ignored it. When Tragedy tripped on the door frame, Sirius grabbed Tragedy to steady him, but Tragedy screamed, and leapt away from the touch. “DON’T TOUCH ME!” he screamed.

When Tragedy’s breathing had calmed, he flicked his wrist again, and the door shut, without the aid of the password. The warden’s eyes nearly popped out of his head. “You shouldn’t be able to do that!”

“I’ve been able to for years. Notice how I never escaped,” he added, glaring at the Headmaster and his godfather. Then, he disappeared with a CRACK! Albus, Sirius and the warden were stunned for a second, before they leapt into action and raced up the stairs. When they got to the warden’s office, they saw Tragedy standing there.

“Thank you, Warden Schmeisman, for your hospitality for the last nearly fifteen years. I’m sorry if I forget to pay the bill,” Tragedy said in a light tone. Albus and Sirius both thanked the warden, then headed toward the dock, Tragedy following.

When they reached the dock, Tragedy said, “I’ll see you on the other side,” and Apparated away.

The ride back to the mainland was long and silent, both men reflecting on their hero.

True to his word, Tragedy was waiting at the dock when they landed. “We’ll be staying at the Burrow for now, Harry.”

“Tragedy,” he growled lowly.

“Yes, of course. I apologize. Now, we will Apparate there, so take my arm, please.”

“I don’t touch people,” he replied, and Apparated away. Albus and Sirius followed.

YMRWYS- YMRWYS- YMRWYS- YMRWYS

When they reached the Burrow, it was chaos. Everyone had their wands out and pointed at Tragedy, except the twins. They were sitting on the couch, had an insane gleam in their eyes, and were giving grins that could send chills down Voldemort’s spine. Albus yelled “Stop!” loudly, and everyone stopped. Tragedy walked over to the twins and sat down in between them, ignoring the questioning and worried glances everyone was sending him.

Albus proceeded to sit everyone down at the table and explain that Tragedy, as he liked to be called, was Harry, and what the warden had told them. Everyone looked guilty at that was happening, and what Tragedy had been through, except for Ron. He was being a jealous prick, since he learned that just because Tragedy was innocent, he was getting everything back, even the money Ron had been given for “having to undergo the haunting ordeal of being the friend of the murderer Harry Potter.”

The first thing Ron did after hearing what Tragedy would be getting back was get up, walk over to Tragedy, and attempt to punch him. But, the twins stopped him, and looked at him with those insane eyes and manic grins, and he shivered in fear. They Apparated away to their room with him, the whole thing going unnoticed by everyone at the table.

Tragedy walked to the table, his lips still in a frown, and listened to what Albus was saying. Ginny was the first to notice him, got up, ran to him, and tried to hug him, but she was stopped by a shield charm. “Don’t touch me,” he said lowly. Everyone turned to look at him. He looked right back. “None of you. Don’t touch me. Ever.” And he stalked up the stairs to the twins’ room.

YMRWYS- YMRWYS- YMRWYS- YMRWYS

The first thing Tragedy noticed in the twins’ room was the thing, or, rather, person banging on the closet door from inside it. Then, he noticed the twins sitting on a bed, staring at the door and waiting for his entrance. Tragedy conjured a chair, and sat in front of them. “My name is Tragedy.”

“I am Yin,” said George.

“I am Yang,” said Fred.

It was then that Tragedy noticed their change in appearance. They must have taken potions for this to happen, as they looked completely different. The only thing that related them to the Weasleys now was their build. George (A/N: I will be calling him either George or Yin, they are the same person) now wore a black shirt, slacks, vest, shoes and jacket with a white tie. His hair was now jet black, like the midnight black paint of Harry’s frown, and his eyes were black where the whites had once been, and white where the iris and pupil were supposed to be. His body was now devoid of freckles.

Fred (A/N: I will be calling him either Fred or Yang), on the other hand, wore a white shirt, slacks, vest, shoes and jacket with a black tie. His hair was pure white, like the chalk colored paint on Harry’s face, and his eyes were pure white, no blood vessels could be seen, and pitch black where the iris and pupil once were. His body was now, too, devoid of freckles.

“What do you say? My evil henchmen?” Harry drawled the offer.

They nodded eagerly.

“Well, then, I suppose my brother should meet you.”

The twins looked quizzical, but they still were excited. All of a sudden, the paint on Harry’s face-

YMRWYS- YMRWYS- YMRWYS- YMRWYS

A/N: OOOO cliffy!

IDK how far the next chapter will go, but hopefully it will be longer than this one.

PLEASE REVIEW!!!!!!!!!


	3. Chapter 2

A/N: Thanks to those who have reviewed! This story is also on FFnet it you would like the version without the explicit content.

WARNINGS: See Prologue, Small torture in this chapter.

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, nor do I make any money from the writing of this fiction. No copyright infringement is intended.

Chapter 2

“What do you say? My evil henchmen?” Harry drawled the offer.

They nodded eagerly.

“Well, then, I suppose my brother should meet you.”

The twins looked quizzical, but they still were excited. All of a sudden, the paint on Harry’s face changed. The black paint of the frown moved upwards of its own accord, stretching into and ear to ear grin. The thin strips of Harry’s lips also curled upwards with the paint, turning into a manic smile. “I’m Tragedy’s brother. He’s so dreary and depressing, isn’t he?”

The twins looked thoughtful for a moment. Then, it clicked. Harry had Multiple Personality Disorder. It was a common occurrence for those with very high power-levels. The power was so much, sometimes, that, in order for it to be wielded properly, it had to split the mind, giving each part a piece of the magic. Also, being locked up in Azkaban with the Dementors for almost fifteen years didn’t help, either. The twins nodded, agreeing with Other-Harry’s assessment of Tragedy.

“Oh, I’m Comedy, by the way,” he said, giggling slightly. (A/N: I will refer to Harry as either Comedy or Tragedy depending upon which personality is in control, and he will often refer to himself as “we”, for Comedy and Tragedy)

Comedy got up and walked weirdly around the room, as though he was trying not to hop around it. “Come up with any useful pranks lately, our evil henchmen?” he asked.

“Of course, Comedy. Do you want the funnies or the practicals?” they replied in unison.

Comedy’s eyes lit up at the mention of something funny, then he frowned. “That depends on your definition of funny,” he said.

The twins smirked evilly. “What’s yours?” they asked.

Rather than replying verbally, Comedy conjured his trunk and pulled out one of the torture scenes, written with the word “comedy”. He handed it to the twins, smiling in amusement at the picture of the man whose entrails were being pulled out through a small hole where his navel had once been. The twins looked at the picture for a second before bursting out in laughter. They howled at the thought of this happening to someone.

When they had calmed, they detailed the “funny” pranks they had come up with for Comedy, and, by the end, his chest was shaking in barely contained laughter. It was then that Comedy noticed that the banging had stopped. He shushed the twins, the ever-present grin still on his face, walked to the closet, and opened it. Ron fell onto his right ear, the one he had had pressed up against the door, trying to listen. When he had stood up, he pointed an accusing finger at Comedy. “I KNEW you were Dark, Potter.”

Comedy’s face contorted into a countenance of pure rage at the mention of his old surname. He grabbed Ron by the throat, lifting him off the floor with his strength, and yelled “MY NAME IS COMEDY!” in his face. He then dropped the Weasleys’ youngest son in a heap on the floor, and grinned once more. “We think little Ronnie-kins has heard too much, don’t you, boys?”

The twins nodded, the manic gleam still in their eyes.

“We hope you don’t care much about him, do you?” Comedy asked.

They shook their heads vigorously. “We care for no one except for ourselves, and our brothers-not-by-blood.”

At Comedy’s curious look, they replied, “You and Tragedy.” Comedy smiled, happy that the twins had remembered about him and Tragedy, not that disgusting…thing they had once been.

“Well, then. We have a friend who we think deserves a present for doing us a favor. Killed a certain Mudblood who used to bunk with me.” He turned to Ron, who was now glaring furiously at the memory of Dean Thomas’s mutilated corpse. “Don’t worry, Ronnie-kins, you’ll see him eventually. We wonder how long they’ll play with you…” he murmured under his breath.

Comedy then transfigured his prison robes into white shoes, black slacks, a white shirt, a black tie, and a vest that was black on the left and white on the right. On the vest, above Comedy’s left breast, was stitched a white Tragedy mask, and, on Comedy’s right breast, a black Comedy mask. He also had a silver pocket watch on.

“Said friend is now in a meeting.” He looked at the twins. “Party crashers?” he asked. They nodded eagerly. “Well, then. Let’s go.” He pulled the watch from his pocket, had the twins grab Ron and hold on, and whispered, “Portus.” The group felt the familiar tug behind their navel, and they were gone.

YMRWYS- YMRWYS- YMRWYS- YMRWYS

The group arrived in the foyer of Malfoy Manor. Just as Ron was about to scream, Comedy put a silencing charm on him. Comedy started to walk forward, then stopped. He looked thoughtful for a moment, then waved his hand, transfiguring his normal shoes into tap shoes, so his steps clicked on the tiled floors. He then nodded in a satisfied manner, and walked off, beckoning his henchmen to follow.

They walked through the empty halls of the manor until they came to the massive doors of the ballroom. Harry could hear the faint hissing of Voldemort’s voice and waved his hand at the door. They doors flew open violently, a resonating BANG! coming off when they hit the walls.

All of the Death Eaters had their wands drawn and pointed at the group of four standing in the doorway.

Comedy smiled even wider, sending shivers down everyone’s spine. They could tell that this person was even more unhinged than Bellatrix. She had shivered as well. It was then that they noticed the two people who were dressed as opposites behind him. The manic gleam in their eyes certainly didn’t help the shivering.

Comedy spoke then. “Oh, Tommy-boy! We brought a present for you and Drakey-poo!” he said in a high itched voice, the he giggled at his comment.

“I don’t suppose you could have waited until the meeting was over?” Voldemort drawled. Comedy grinned and shook his head vigorously, as a child would. “Well, then. What is this present for myself and Draco?”

Comedy moved out of the way and the twins threw Ron onto the floor in front of Voldemort’s throne. “My brother and I thought you deserved something for taking out the Mudblood,” was Comedy’s explanation.

Voldemort nodded. “Draco, take our new toy to the dungeons.”

Draco grabbed Ron a little too tightly by the neck. “Yes, my lord.”

Comedy brushed a hand through his hair, grinning evilly. This had gone better than he thought. Unfortunately, his hand caused the hair that was covering his scar to shift, which caused one of the lower level Death Eaters to see it, which caused him to shriek “IT’S HARRY POTTER!” to the group.

Comedy’s face instantly turned into a mask of fiery rage. He flicked his hand and the man who had called him by that…disgusting name was suspended in the air, spread-eagled, devoid of clothes. “MY NAME IS COMEDY!” he yelled at the Death Eater. Comedy turned to look at everyone in the room. “Let this be a lesson to all of you.”

Comedy conjured a knife and walked towards the man. Comedy cut off three fingers from each hand, preserved them, and pocketed them, to keep as trophies.

The, Comedy took the knife and carved something into his chest. Upon the Death Eater’s right breast, Comedy carved a blood red mask that was smiling. Only, this mask wasn’t a traditional Comedy mask. No, this mask had a toothy grin. And its face was riddled with scars. The work was so intricate that it took Comedy nearly half an hour to finish getting everything right, the man feeling every touch of the blade to his skin, unable to fall into the blissful reverie of unconsciousness.

Then, Comedy lifted the knife. “My turn’s up,” he said.

Then, the grin turned to a frown, and Tragedy came to the forefront. “It’s my turn now,” he drawled. Then, Tragedy set about carving the tragedy mask into the man’s left breast. This mask was the mirror image of its counterpart. The scars were reversed, and the grin was a frown. It was the same blood-red hue of the comedy mask. After another half an hour of pain-filled screams echoing around the cavernous room, Tragedy lifted the knife. “One more thing,” he said. Then, he did something that not even Bellatrix had ever even considered. Something that truly showed how demented Comedy and Tragedy were. Something that showed the effect the torture of horrible memories had had on the boy that was placed in hell on earth.

As Tragedy’s frown shifted into Comedy’s grin, they castrated the man.

Comedy looked upon the man who they had just finished with. Then, he howled, his roaring laugh filling the ballroom.

When Comedy had calmed, eyes still glinting in amusement, and grin still present, he said to the group, “Let this be your warning. I can restrain myself, but you have seen how much I enjoy sadism. I would love for one of you to become my toy, but, if you are nice, I won’t force it upon you.”

Then, Comedy turned on his heel and skipped from the room, shoes clicking on the tiled floor, leaving footprints wet from the nearly dead man’s blood in his wake.

YMRWYS- YMRWYS- YMRWYS- YMRWYS

A/N: So, tell me what you think? Was the castration too far? I really don’t know what people like around here, so I just put it in there. I hope I didn’t scar too many of you. What do you think? I SERIOUSLY want to know…

THANKS!


	4. Chapter 3

A/N: Thanks again to all of my reviewers!

I find that watching scenes form The Dark Knight where the Joker is helps with writing this story. Just thought I’d put that out there.

WARNINGS: See Prologue

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, nor do I make any money from the writing of this fiction. No copyright infringement is intended.

Chapter 3

Comedy looked upon the man who they had just finished with. Then, he howled, his roaring laugh filling the ballroom.

When Comedy had calmed, eyes still glinting in amusement, and grin still present, he said to the group, “Let this be your warning. I can restrain myself, but you have seen how much I enjoy sadism. I would love for one of you to become my toy, but, if you are nice, I won’t force it upon you.”

Then, Comedy turned on his heel and skipped from the room, shoes clicking on the tiled floor, leaving footprints wet from the nearly dead man’s blood in his wake.

YMRWYS- YMRWYS- YMRWYS- YMRWYS

Later that night, Fred and George found Tragedy wandering about the Manor. They walked up to him and bared their right arms. “We want a mark,” they said.

Tragedy looked up at them, the same melancholy frown still in place. He saw the demented hope glistening in their eyes, and sighed. “It’s alright, I suppose.” He grabbed their right forearms, one in each hand, and, as the frown warped into a grin, whispered, “Rictus et nubis*”.

On their arms, scarred comedy and tragedy masks, the same ones they had carved into their latest toy, appeared, etched in silver ink that glistened in the firelight.

YMRWYS- YMRWYS- YMRWYS- YMRWYS

Comedy was wandering about the halls, smiling and thinking about how they had just marked their henchmen.

He suddenly came across a very…beautiful man.

He walked up to him. “Well, hello, beautiful. Just who might you be?”

Barty looked up at Comedy. He knew that this man was once Harry Potter, but it seemed as though his stay in Azkaban had change him dramatically. He was no longer his lord’s enemy.

Barty had always thought that Harry had a sort of beauty in him, and he was even planning to ask his lord for Harry as a reward if his lord decided not to kill the boy. Barty would’ve had someone train the boy into a dominant lover and a sadist, because Barty was a sub and a masochist (why else would he have joined Voldemort’s ranks and taken his punishments so happily). Then, they would’ve embarked on an interesting relationship.

Now that his lord had apparently decided not to kill Potter, Barty was happy. And Barty thought that the face paint, scars and new personality were all turn-ons. He hoped that he wasn’t reading too much into Potter…no, Comedy’s “beautiful” comment. “Who, me?” he asked, even though there was no one else around for Comedy to be referring to.

“Yes, you. What is a pretty thing like you doing in a place like this?”

“Just helping my lord bring about the fall of the light. Why?”

“How about I whisk you away from here to be mine?” Comedy asked, smiling as if in a daze.

Barty smirked. “No can do, handsome. I have work to do.” And he sauntered off, not missing how Comedy’s eyes had widened in shock when Barty had called him handsome.

YMRWYS- YMRWYS- YMRWYS- YMRWYS

Tragedy was now at the forefront. He was wandering around the Manor, again, his real lips not pulled into a frown, the closest he ever got to a smile. He was…content with his encounter with Barty, thinking of ways to make the pretty man his.

Suddenly, he realized he had a façade to keep up with the light. He used the marks on his henchmen to summon them. A second later, identical CRACK!’s could be heard from Apparition. He held out his pocket watch, waited for the twins to grab hold, and whispered “Portus” once again.

YMRWYS- YMRWYS- YMRWYS- YMRWYS

That night, dinner was a somber affair, with just the Weasleys and Harry. No one commented on Ron’s absence, they just assumed he had gone to his room to brood.

Tragedy slept in the spare bed in Ron’s room that night.

YMRWYS- YMRWYS- YMRWYS- YMRWYS

The next day, Tragedy and the twins left for Gringott’s. They Portkeyed straight through the wards, but none of the goblins looked surprised at the appearance of three weird people in their lobby. The trio walked up to the goblin teller at the front of the room and greeted him in the traditional goblin manner. This is what shocked the goblins.

“I would appreciate an audience with Griphook,” said Tragedy after the goblins had resumed working.

The teller nodded and summoned a younger goblin. They conversed in Gobbledygook before the younger goblin beckoned Tragedy and the twins to follow and walked off at a break-neck pace.

They walked for a few minutes before reaching a single oak door with a black plaque that had Griphook engraved on it.

The younger goblin shooed them inside before shutting the door audibly behind them. “You’ve changed since that day nearly eighteen years ago,” they heard from the other end of the room. The office they were in was Spartan, black floor and walls, with an oak desk and three chairs in front of it. In the larger chair behind the desk sat Griphook. “I presume you are here to claim your titles as lord of your houses?”

Tragedy nodded.

“Well, then. If you are indeed who you say you are, then I will let you. First, though, I need seven drops of blood on this parchment,” said Griphook, setting a thick piece of black parchment on the table with a silver dagger. Tragedy sliced his palm and allowed seven drops to fall onto the page.

Script the same as Tragedy’s handwriting spread across the page, and he hissed slightly as it listed his birth name.

Names: Comedy and Tragedy

Birth Name: Harry James Potter

Heir to the Noble and Most Ancient House of Potter

Heir to the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black

Heir to the Noble and Most Ancient House of Peverell

It went on to list how much money he owned, what was in his vaults and which estates were his.

Griphook nodded. “Well, then,” he looked at Tragedy’s face and guessed which name to use, “Tragedy, you may claim the Potter and Peverell lordships, though not the Black one, as Lord Black is still alive.”

Tragedy nodded.

After lots of paperwork and the receiving of the rings, Tragedy asked Griphook a question. “Is it possible for me to change the names of the Houses I am lord of?”

“It is uncommon, but it is possible.”

“Then I would like the House of Potter changed to the House of Comedy and the House of Peverell changed to the House of Tragedy.”

Griphook nodded and they spent the next couple hours filling out forms and drawing the new crests. The House of Comedy crest was the comedy mask that Comedy had carved on the Death Eater the previous day, and the House of Tragedy crest was the tragedy mask that Tragedy had carved into their human canvas the previous day.

YMRWYS- YMRWYS- YMRWYS- YMRWYS

Later that day, the twins and Comedy were walking down Knockturn Alley, Comedy barely restraining himself from skipping in his tap shoes. They stopped at a pet shop that had caught their eyes in passing.

Inside was a variety of creatures, all of them Dark in some way. Fred and George were eyeing twin wolves, one black with white eyes, which would be George’s, and the other white with black eyes, for Fred. Comedy saw this and paid the shopkeeper for them.

As Comedy walked around the store, two animals caught his eye. One would be perfect for himself, and the other for his brother. The one that would be for Comedy was a white hyena with black spots, its mouth currently open in a silent cackle. The other, for Tragedy, was a large black raven, who had a few white feathers on its wings. Comedy walked up to the shopkeeper and paid for these, too.

They left the store and had the raven, which Tragedy had named Frown, fly to the Burrow, while the twins, the wolves, who the twins had named for their eye color: Black and White, Comedy and Grin, the hyena, portkeyed there.

YMRWYS- YMRWYS- YMRWYS- YMRWYS

They appeared in the twins’ room just in time to hear Molly call for supper. After Tragedy came to the forefront, not wanting to give Comedy away yet, the trio wandered down the stairs and into the dining room, where the majority of the Order was waiting. Everyone shivered at Harry’s new appearance. They felt guilt at their betrayal of the young boy, and for what he had become.

Dinner was eaten in relative silence, everyone coming to terms with the new Harry.

When the meal was finished, Albus asked everyone to assemble in the living room for a meeting.

They discuss normal business for a while, then moving on to the information on Voldemort that Severus had gathered, and finally Albus asked Tragedy to come forward.

Tragedy stood in front of the assembled Order members, taking in their shivers with pleasure. Then, he began. “You betrayed me and sentenced me to hell on Earth. It was horrible for a while, until I realized the truth. No one ever cared. To them, I was just a tool to be discarded when I wasn’t needed. Even to my godfather and pseudo-godfather,” he added, glaring at Remus and Sirius, “I was just a means to an end, meant to be thrown away when I was no longer needed. So, I thank you. For showing me that. I only wish you would’ve told me rather than throwing me to the wolves, as it were. I have only two rules. Follow them and I will get along fine with most of you. One: Don’t call me by my old name. When you see me, either call me Tragedy, or by my brother’s name, if he’s in control.” Several people frowned in confusion at this statement. “Two: Don’t. Touch. Me. EVER. Now, one last reminder before I let my brother speak to you: if you stand in my way, you will fall. That is a promise.”

Then, Tragedy’s thin lips curled into a manic grin, as did the black paint. This was scarier to some than Tragedy’s frown. “Hello. I am Comedy, Tragedy’s brother.” Then, Harry’s MPD dawned on most of the assembled people. “I just want to reinforce the second rule. Touch me and you will lose whatever you touch me with,” he said with a bright smile, like one you would see on a toddler on Christmas morning after seeing the gigantic mound of presents laid out for them.

Then, Comedy sent out a small burst of magic, calling Frown and Grin to him. Fred and George followed suit. When they each had a hand on their familiars, or, in Frown’s case, a shoulder under them, Comedy pulled out his pocket watch. “Goodbye,” he said cheerily after the twins had grabbed on, and they disappeared with a whispered “Portus”.

Just as they left, a small piece of thick black parchment, which Albus could tell had several protection charms on it, fluttered out of Comedy’s vest and onto the ground. After checking it for hexes, jinxes and curses, Albus picked it up and looked at it. On one side, in blood-red ink, were the Comedy and Tragedy masks, only, these were full of scars, and the grin on the Comedy mask was toothy and feral.

On the other side, it read Comedy, Tragedy, Yin and Yang can be found at The Theatre, Number 7 Fabula** Lane, Little Hangleton.

YMRWYS- YMRWYS- YMRWYS- YMRWYS

For all translations, I use Google Translate, so please forgive the horrible inaccuracy.

*grin and frown

**play (as in a theatrical piece)

A/N: Just so there’s no confusion, neither Comedy nor Tragedy support the dark, but they don’t support the light, either. They are indifferent as to who wins, just as long as they can have their fun torturing and killing, and playing with their betrayers.

So, I am currently being badgered by a very persistent plot bunny, so I will be figuring out that plot for a few days, so I don’t know when the next update will be.


	5. Chapter 4

A/N: I THANK EVERYONE FOR THE REVIEWS!!! If you haven’t yet, please check out my new story, “Forgiveness is Asked For”.

FYI2, I have been having troubles with AFForg and have therefore decided to close my account on that site. I am sorry if this causes anyone problems! So, I will no longer have stores on AFForg. I may decide to create a new account later on, but, for now, there will NOT be an account on AFForg. Again, sorry if this causes you any problems…

WARNINGS: See Prologue

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, nor do I make any money from the writing of this fiction. No copyright infringement is intended.

Chapter 4

Then, Comedy sent out a small burst of magic, calling Frown and Grin to him. Fred and George followed suit. When they each had a hand on their familiars, or, in Frown’s case, a shoulder under them, Comedy pulled out his pocket watch. “Goodbye,” he said cheerily after the twins had grabbed on, and they disappeared with a whispered “Portus”.

Just as they left, a small piece of thick black parchment, which Albus could tell had several protection charms on it, fluttered out of Comedy’s vest and onto the ground. After checking it for hexes, jinxes and curses, Albus picked it up and looked at it. On one side, in blood-red ink, were the Comedy and Tragedy masks, only, these were full of scars, and the grin on the Comedy mask was toothy and feral.

On the other side, it read Comedy, Tragedy, Yin and Yang can be found at The Theatre, Number 7 Fabula Lane, Little Hangleton.

YMRWYS-YMRWYS-YMRWYS-YMRWYS

Little Hangleton was not a large town. It was small, a village. In fact, the only reason this small village even existed sat atop a small hill too far away from Greater Hangleton to be considered within the city, hence the formation of Little Hangleton.

In this village, there was the normal assortment of shops and homes, most muggle. There were a few wizarding homes in this small community, including Riddle Manor, the large home sitting atop a hill that caused the founding of this community.

Another of these wizarding dwellings was Number 7 Fabula Lane, or, as the residents of the town referred to it, The Theatre. Its name came from what it used to be: a theater. A grand theater at that. It was what had let the community thrive in the nineteenth and early twentieth centuries. It was known not only for its grandeur and being rather ostentatious, but also for its near perfect renditions of Shakespearian plays. It had been closed down during World War II, and never reopened since the owner and lead actor had died in combat. Now, it was inhabited by four people and their familiars.

At this moment, a small man, who could easily pass for a teenager, was meditating. It was daytime, something he was still not accustomed to since his time in the dank and dark prison of Azkaban, and he did not want to go outside.

Tragedy sat on the floor, practicing his meditating technique. He was attempting to learn Occlumency, which was nigh on impossible with an extra person in your mind. Not that he needed to, no one could find anything except for him and Comedy in the mess that was their psyche.

Nevertheless, Tragedy was trying to learn it. He had read in books that for people with very high power levels and MPD, it was possible to learn Occlumency, but that there was a side-effect of sorts, something not listed, only theorized in one of the books. In said books, it was theorized that, if the wizard was powerful enough, the other part of the mind could be given a physical manifestation, while keeping the mind intact, yet allowing Occlumency to be learned. This worked because Occlumency worked as more of physical barrier, literally a wall of magic around the brain that prevented intrusion. By physically separating the mind, yet keeping the psyche still intact, as in two separate brains with a total mind-link, it would be possible for the brain to organize itself enough to learn and utilize Occlumency.

Tragedy had been trying to achieve this since sunrise, around six in the morning, and it was quickly becoming five in the afternoon.

At five thirty, Tragedy decided to give it a rest for the day and relaxed his pose.

However, Tragedy was shocked when he opened his eyes and looked into the face of his brother. Sitting in front of him, in living, breathing flesh, was his brother Comedy, irritating ear-to-ear grin still plastered on his face. His lips went to their straight-line-smile-not-frown position. He was glad that he had been able to successfully learn Occlumency. It was also a plus to have his brother have his own form.

Comedy giggled slightly in his completely insane way. “I have been sitting here for nigh on three hours waiting for you to open your eyes, Happy.” Tragedy hated that nickname. He detested being referred to as a positive emotion.

“You should have alerted me to your presence, Somber,” he replied. Comedy’s grin turned into a straight line, the closest he could get to a frown.

Tragedy wanted to test something. He closed his eyes and concentrated. Sure enough, when he opened his eyes, Comedy was no longer in front of him. His straight-line-smile-not-frown twitched the tiniest bit upwards, before going back straight.

“HEY!” Comedy raged in their mind. “WHY THE FUCK DID YOU DO THAT! I was enjoying being on my own without your somber thoughts clouding my lively ones every fucking minute!”

Tragedy concentrated again. When he opened his eyes, Comedy was again in front of him, glaring, his straight-line-frown-not-smile firmly in place. Suddenly, his face lit up one again. “Do you know what this means?” he asked his brother excitedly.

“No,” was the small reply.

Comedy was practically bouncing. “We can DP our pretty Death Eater,” he said enthusiastically, leering at his brother.

Before Comedy could go farther, they heard the twins simultaneously calling their names. When George walked in, Fred at his side, they looked startled as their eyes landed on the brothers. “Occlumency,” the brothers said in unison, just like the twins. The twins nodded as it clicked in their minds.

YMRWYS-YMRWYS-YMRWYS-YMRWYS

The next day, Comedy, Tragedy, Fred and George went on a little mission.

It was disgustingly easy.

They Apparated straight through the wards of the Burrow and grabbed Ginny. Then, they Apparated out.

Tragedy stunned her. They left her on the floor by the door to take with them that night.

YMRWYS-YMRWYS-YMRWYS-YMRWYS

That night, the inhabitants of Number 7 made their way up the main road of Little Hangleton at a sedate pace. The sun had set already, and the stars were shining and winking at them from the sky.

The group made it to their destination, at the top of a small hill, Riddle Manor. They walked through the wards, very powerful ones meant to keep out those without a Dark Mark, as if they were thin air. The group kept walking, familiars at their sides, and made their way through the door and into the ballroom, where Voldemort was currently holding a meeting with his Inner Circle.

Comedy, who had taken control of their body after dinner, had taken down the Occlumency barriers, forcing Tragedy back in. Tragedy sat in the back of their mind, sulking. No, not sulking. Evil, insane and powerful men didn’t sulk. No, he was simply being the bigger man and letting Comedy run things. Yes. Not sulking. Definitely not…

Comedy, with Grin at his side and Frown on his shoulder, started to fidget. Grin followed suit. Soon, Comedy was so restless that Frown flew off his shoulder and landed on a rafter above them, alerting Voldemort and his Inner Circle to their presence.

Voldemort quirked an eyebrow at their appearance.

“Don’t mind us,” Comedy giggled. “We’re just waiting to speak with you and Lucy.”

Lucius scowled at his new nickname, but returned his attention to his lord and silently contemplated what Comedy would want to speak with him and his lord about while he listened to the reports from the other Inner Circle members.

When the meeting was almost over, about an hour later, Comedy could no longer hold it in. He started skipping around the room. He laughed as he did so, a bone-chillingly cheerful laugh that sent shivers down everyone’s spine. Voldemort dismissed his Inner Circle except for Lucius.

As the Death Eaters walked out, Comedy stopped Barty. He saddled up behind the man, close enough that his breath tickled Barty’s ear, and whispered, “You stay too,” in a low, seductive tone. Then, he skipped away.

Once Comedy had been skipping around for about twenty minutes, Voldemort reached his limit. He loudly cleared his throat, but Comedy just went on skipping. He waited another five before raising his wand and attempting to put the small man under the Cruciatus, though he dodged it and fired a stinging hex back at Voldemort, which met its mark.

Comedy skipped over to the group and held out his pocket watch as Frown landed on his shoulder. The other five grabbed on, their familiars, if present, firmly in hand.

Silently, the familiar pull behind the navel whisked them away.

YMRWYS-YMRWYS-YMRWYS-YMRWYS

The group landed in The Theatre. Not that anyone except for Comedy, George and Fred knew it.

“Where are we?” Voldemort demanded.

“Not far,” came the reply.

Comedy looked as if he was arguing with himself, which, in a way, he was. Finally, he gave up and raised the Occlumency shields again, allowing Tragedy a corporeal form.

Barty, Lucius and Voldemort all gasped audibly at that. Comedy giggled and Tragedy sighed. Comedy discreetly got Bart’s attention and leered at the man, mouthing “DP” at him. Barty blushed violently and looked away. Comedy smirked once again, and Tragedy’s frown quirked into a straight line when Comedy told Tragedy what had happened through their mind-link.

A few seconds later, when Voldemort had regained control over his expression, he demanded once again to know where they were. Comedy and Tragedy both sighed, though one seemed melancholy and the other exasperated. They conferred through their mind-link, then replied in unison. “The Theatre.”

Voldemort’s eyes lit up in understanding, though Lucius’s mask remained firmly in place.

Comedy and Tragedy walked off in tandem, leaving the rest of the group to follow or get lost in the maze-like corridors found behind the stage. They walked through the theater with practiced ease until they came to a door. Comedy smirked and Tragedy frowned, and, together, they opened the door and ushered everyone inside.

Inside the room, or cellar, rather, was a dungeon. It was fully equipped with cells and torture chambers, with torture devices ranging from Ancient Greek, to Roman, to Medieval, to Modern. It was Comedy’s favorite place in the whole theater.

Lucius and Voldemort looked at the small men questioningly. “We have a gift,” they said and pointed to a near cage. Inside, bound and gagged was Ginny Weasley.

YMRWYS-YMRWYS-YMRWYS-YMRWYS

A/N: So, what did you think?

Next chapter will be where they torture Ginny, and I have some ideas. It will have a HUGE parallel to a scene from The Dark Knight, but, in order to maintain the suspense, I won’t tell you which one…

Review? PWEEEAAASSSE?


	6. Chapter 5

A/N: Once again, I thank you all for the reviews on this story!

Barty is OOC in this story, FYI.

FYI this story will probably have a side pairing. It will be mentioned in this chapter.

Also, just so it’s not confusing, when I refer to “the brothers” that’s Comedy and Tragedy, and “the twins” are Fred and George.

WARNINGS: See Prologue, Incest, TORTURE IN THIS CHAPTER

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, nor do I make any money from the writing of this fiction. No copyright infringement is intended.

Chapter 5

Inside the room, or cellar, rather, was a dungeon. It was fully equipped with cells and torture chambers, with torture devices ranging from Ancient Greek, to Roman, to Medieval, to Modern. It was Comedy’s favorite place in the whole theater.

Lucius and Voldemort looked at the small men questioningly. “We have a gift,” they said and pointed to a near cage. Inside, bound and gagged was Ginny Weasley.

The first thing that popped into Lucius’s head was that it must have been Yule. Two Weasels in three days. He was excited about taking his family’s revenge out on the Weasels.

Voldemort was bewildered as to why he was being gifted another toy, not that he was complaining. He just wondered.

“All we ask in return,” the brothers said in tandem, “is a little time to play with this one and the other.”

Lucius and Voldemort nodded.

“Where would you like us to take her?” the brothers asked.

“Malfoy Manor’s dungeons, if that is alright, my lord?”

Voldemort nodded. The brothers grabbed Ginny from her cell and held out their pocket watches for Fred, George, Lucius and Voldemort. The group felt the familiar pull behind the navel and was gone.

YMRWYS- YMRWYS- YMRWYS- YMRWYS

The group landed in one of Malfoy Manor’s many torture chambers, and immediately the brothers began getting Ginny into a cell. They tied her up with conjured ropes and spelled her clothes off. They then Apparated out of the room, something that should not have been possible within the Manor’s wards. A few seconds later, they came back with a bound, gagged and equally nude Ron and set him up next to his sister.

“Go fetch Draco, boys,” the brothers told the twins. They nodded and Apparated out once again, returning with Draco, who looked slightly flustered from being disturbed, and blushing from being in such close contact with the sexy (in his mind) twins.

Once they had Draco, the brothers began. The first thing they did was conjure knives and carve their masks into each, in the same space as they had on the unlucky Death Eater.

An hour later, everyone’s, except for the brothers’ who had cast preventative charms, ears were ringing from the screams.

The brothers looked at the bloody blades, each casting a silver reflection on its surface, then looked at each other. They exchanged knives and brought them up to their mouths.

When their tongues darted out, everyone gasped. Their tongues were forked. Not like a snake, no. It looked as though someone had deliberately held their once-normal tongues out and sliced right through the middle, making an artificial fork. The groove was wide enough to be visible, and it ended an inch from the end of the tongue. Creepier, though, was that it appeared that the brothers had full control of both halves, and made a show, to the disgust and fear of everyone else, of wiggling the tongues, making one half go up while the other went down, and vice versa.

Comedy shot a suggestive leer at Barty, who blushed.

They stuck the blades of the knives into the fork and licked them clean of the crimson liquid coating their surface. When they pulled the knives out of their tongues, it looked as though the brothers had made the grooves in their tongues slightly longer.

Then, they sheathed the knives into sheaths on their belts that had not been there before.

The pair looked at each other once again, deciding on what to do next. They each conjured small knives and nodded to the other. Then, they set to work.

The lowered the siblings on the wall until they were kneeling at the brothers’ feet, legs forcibly spread by bar spreaders. The brothers used the paring knives to relieve the youngest Weasleys of their hair. They cut lines on their foreheads and continued around the head until they reached where they had started. Then, they proceeded to cut the scalps off the heads of their screaming victims, as blood ran down their faces, shadowing their eyes from the onlookers in a thin curtain of crimson.

Comedy and Tragedy exchanged scalps. They set the scalp they had received on the head of their victim, Comedy’s was Ginny and Tragedy’s was Ron, making sure to line them up correctly. The brothers then ran their fingers around the split in between the scalps, sewing them together with magic and whispered Latin.

When the brothers were finished, Ron and Ginny had screamed themselves hoarse, and their heads looked…weird. They both had scars running the circumference of their heads, but, because of the difference in their sizes, the scalp on Ginny’s head sagged, folding over itself some, and Ron new scalp was visibly stretching, and beginning to tear in a few places.

Comedy giggled madly and Tragedy semi-snorted.

Barty was aching by the time the brothers had finished, and, hearing their laugh/snort, finally let out a small whimper that he couldn’t hold in, going unnoticed by all but two. Comedy and Tragedy both looked at him, Comedy leering, and Tragedy with a slight twitch if his lips, both with eyes that told of the numerous things that toed the thin line between pleasure and pain which awaited Barty when he inevitably accepted the offer of a relationship with the brothers. Barty nearly came at the sight.

The brothers smiled at their companions, who were leering at the bound siblings shrouded in their own blood. They turned to face their toys. They both sent the toys their respective expressions, and the bound, gagged and strung-up siblings shivered in fear. The brothers turned back to their companions. “Who would like to go next?” they asked in unison.

Lucius sent Voldemort a questioning glance, and, receiving a nod, went to the bloodied pair as the brothers retreated, Comedy’s tap shoes clicking on the stone, splashing crimson droplets in his wake.

Lucius favored medieval torture. Though he had been known to try new things, and use spells and the like for the purpose of torture for information, when he tortured for pleasure, and, especially, retribution, he preferred muggle methods, especially those from the middle ages.

The blond man looked contemplatively at the pair, and reached his decision.

He summoned two iron breast rippers, both red at the ends, having just been pulled from a fire somewhere else in the dungeons. He then summoned his Judas Cradle.

With the aid of magic, Lucius moved the chains that bound Ron until he was hanging from the sealing, lying flat on air. He then maneuvered Ron until the point of the cradle was below his hole, about five feet in between them, and relished in the boy’s whimpering as he fully realized what was about to happen.

With a wave of his wand, Lucius allowed the chains slack and the boy fell onto the cradle, piercing his anus and rectum with a scream of pain.

Lucius smiled.

The blond turned from the older of the two and walked over to the younger. The girl was sniveling in fear. He laughed.

He waved his wand once again and the two breast rippers floated over. Ginny’s eyes widened as she recognized their purpose. She tried pleading, but her voice was so raw from screaming that no one could make out the words.

Lucius shrugged because, honestly, he didn’t give a flying fuck what the girl was trying to say. He conjured gloves for himself and slipped them on. He grasped one of the still-hot objects and spread it open. He brought it near Ginny’s right breast and the toy’s maws close, sinking it four heated prongs into the girl’s flesh. Somehow, the girl managed to muster a scream.

Lucius walked back over to Ron. Thinking that the boy’s screams had died down too much, he conjured four twenty-five pound weight and tied them to the boy’s arms and legs, keeping them aloft with magic. Once the boy had become of aware of what was about to happen, Lucius, looking at the fear in his eyes, released the charm and the boy fell further onto the cradle, blood now pouring profusely down the sides.

Lucius turned back to Ginny. He replaced the gloves that he had taken off before attending to Ron and grasped the second ripper. He then allowed this one’s teeth to pierce her other breast, relishing in the delightful screams of pain the girl was emitting.

Then, Lucius grasped the end of the rippers and pulled. Hard. With his strength and a little magic, the rippers came out, the mounds of fatty flesh with them. Lucius brought his wand to her chest and stopped the bleeding so she wouldn’t die. He preserved the breasts and conjured jars for them. He would save them for later use. Then, he banished the rippers back to their oven. To be heated once more.

He then walked over to Ron and vanished the weights. He used magic to roughly yank the boys up off the cradle and banished it back to the room it came from. He healed the boy enough so that he, too, wouldn’t bleed to death.

Lucius stung the siblings up and turned to his lord. He bowed his head and murmured a thanks in his direction before falling back into place at his side.

Comedy and Tragedy took Barty to a corner to talk with him about the possibilities of a relationship. They tried their best to convince him to join them. Barty, knowing it was inevitable, decided to let the brothers’ want simmer before accepting.

While that happened, Voldemort looked contemplative. Finally, he decided. “Draco, you may now…play…with our toys.”

Draco smirked maliciously at the Weasleys on the wall. He conjured what appeared to be an exam table. Using magic, he brought the Weaslette down off the wall and settled her on the table, her chest touching the metal and rubbing painful against it.

Using leather ties, Draco strapped the girl to the table and whispered an incantation that would force the Weasel to watch.

Draco put down his fly and pulled his long and slender cock out. The four people paying attention gasped.

Hearing the gasp, Comedy and Tragedy turned, and, seeing Draco about to put his penis into the girl’s vagina, cast the Cruciatus curse in unison at the Malfoy Heir.

Just as Draco was about to push in, he fell to his knees screaming in pain. It felt as though all the neurons in his body were being dissected at one time, as though his bones were being shattered to pieces, as though someone were running knives through his arteries and veins, as though someone had poured liquid fire through and on his body. This was worse than his lord’s Cruciatus. This was worse than he could even consider pleasurable pain, and he was a masochist, for fuck’s sake!

After a few seconds, the brothers lifted the curse. “No rape,” they said before walking from the dungeons.

YMRWYS- YMRWYS- YMRWYS- YMRWYS

A/N: Well? Good? Bad? Utterly horrible? So bad you will be scarred for life and will never be able to read fanfiction again? Amazing because I am amazing and the best person you could ever even want to know?

What did you think of the torture?

Review? Please?


	7. Chapter 6

A/N: Sorry about how long it has been since I updated! I have been very busy lately and there has been no new inspiration for this chapter until now. Please enjoy!

 

THIS IS A REALLY SHORT CHAPTER. IT IS ONLY A FEW PAGES LONG BECAUSE I WANTED TO END IT ON A CLIFFHANGER. I AM SORRY AND I HOPE THE NEXT, LONGER CHAPTER WILL BE OUT SOON. AGAIN, THIS IS A VERY SHORT CHAPTER.

 

WARNINGS: See Prologue

 

This is unbeta’d. If you would like to beta, please contact me.

 

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, nor do I make any money from the writing of this fiction. No copyright infringement is intended.

 

**Chapter 6**

 

_After a few seconds, the brothers lifted the curse. “No rape,” they said before walking from the dungeons._

 

YMRWYS- YMRWYS- YMRWYS- YMRWYS

 

The next morning, Comedy and Tragedy showed up in Tom’s study. “Could you please call Draco in. We need to apologize for what we did last night.”

 

“First, please explain to me why you said no rape.” Voldemort said as he looked up from his paperwork. He looked like Tom Riddle from the diary again, only he now looked to be in his late twenties, or early thirties. He had grown his hair, too, and it now went a third of the way down his back. Comedy and Tragedy nodded, before Comedy’s form shifted.

 

Comedy turned into the largest Dementor Tom had ever seen. He was huge, and Tom could instantly feel the strong effect of having such a large Dementor in close proximity. He knew that some of the signs of his feelings were shown on his face, but Tragedy looked calm as a cucumber. “As you can see, Tom, Comedy’s Animagus form is a Dementor. Comedy is all that is left of the ‘good’ part of…that thing we used to be. I am all of its negative emotions. Comedy is only a Dementor Animagus because of his high magic levels and insanity.”

 

“What do you mean, ‘ _only_ a Dementor Animagus’?”

 

“Do you know how a Dementor is created?” Tom shook his head. “Dementors are the tortured souls of innocents. They are what becomes of a pure soul that has been wronged so much, be it by fate or man, that they cannot continue. That is why they feed on happy memories: because they do not have any of their own. Comedy’s insanity and high power levels have kept him from becoming a full on Dementor. You can be assured that, had he been truly sane when he broke, he would be a Dementor.”

 

“OK, but what does this have to do with rape?”

 

“Did you know that raping a person taints their soul? It literally turns a piece of the victim’s soul into this,” he said as he grabbed the material of Comedy’s Dementor cloak. “This cloak is made of the blackened pieces of dead human souls. Not all of it is from rape victims, some souls blacken through grief, or violence, or a broken heart. But rape is the fastest thing to blacken a soul. It takes only one rape to turn a pure soul into a Dementor. Once a soul is completely blackened, if it was once pure, it becomes a Dementor, and, if was not once pure, the soul dies and becomes a Dementor’s cloak.”

 

Tom was aghast at this. He had let his minions create Dementors? How could he be so stupid as to not research this? Granted, he had never ordered his men to rape people, but he had never forbade it, allowing his people to enjoy the spoils of a raid. He would, however, put a stop to that.

 

Comedy changed back into his normal-if you could call it that-form. Tom called a House Elf and ordered it to fetch Draco. A few minutes later, a knock was heard at the door. “Enter,” Tom called.

 

Draco came into the study, his face a blank mask, but he faltered a bit when he saw the brothers. “You called, my lord?” he asked.

 

Tom nodded at the brothers, then left the study.

 

“Sit, Draco.”

 

Draco did as he was told, albeit with a slight tremor in his hand.

 

“Draco, we are sorry about casting the Cruciatus on you when you attempted to rape Ginnevra. However, we did have a reason.” So, Tragedy and Comedy gave Draco the same demonstration and explanation they gave to Tom.

 

Draco accepted their apology after he had heard why they had done it. “Are there any lasting effects?” they asked. “Fred and George would not appreciate it if the one they were pining after were hurt.”

 

Draco’s eyes widened at hearing the (sexy) twins were pining after him. “No, there are none, my lords,” he said.

 

“Draco, please, call us Comedy and Tragedy. We hate the ‘Yes, my lord,’ ‘No, my lord,’ ‘Let me bend over this table for you, my lord,’ bullshite.”

 

Draco snorted at the implication in their words, then nodded his acquiescence.

 

As the silence kept on, it got more uncomfortable for Draco. Suddenly, one voice spoke up.

 

“You know, Draco, I have regretted not taking your hand on the train since…oh, I’d say around when my name came from that thrice damned Goblet. So, since we’re here, I would like to offer you that hand you offered me on the train.”

 

Draco, confused at the sudden want of his friendship, looked up from where he ahd been looking at the hands in his lap, and gasped at what he saw.”

 

YMRWYS-YMRWYS-YMRWYS-YMRWYS

 

A/N: So, a cliffie! OOOOOOOOO. I WONDER WHATS GONNA HAPPEN NEXT.

 

Review? PLEASE?


	8. Chapter 7

A/N: Thanks for the reviews!

 

So, are you wondering about what happens after the cliffhanger? HA Well, I’m not gonna tell you. HEHEHE (yet)

 

ALSO, Sorry, but this will also be another VERY short chapter. This is mainly a filler, because I wanted to show where the loyalties of some of the Light are and also because I wanted to put in a quote from _The Dark Knight_ that I think fits Comedy and Tragedy very well in this fic.

 

I feel that this story is slowly winding to a close, but I do not know how much more there will be. This fic was never meant to be long by any means, so it very probably won’t be more than fifteen total chapters, but my mind and fingers will do as they please.

 

WARNINGS: See Prologue

 

This is unbeta’d. If you would like to beta, please contact me.

 

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, nor do I make any money from the writing of this fiction. No copyright infringement is intended.

 

**Chapter 7**

_As the silence kept on, it got more uncomfortable for Draco. Suddenly, one voice spoke up._

_“You know, Draco, I have regretted not taking your hand on the train since…oh, I’d say around when my name came from that thrice damned Goblet. So, since we’re here, I would like to offer you that hand you offered me on the train.”_

_Draco, confused at the sudden want of his friendship, looked up from where he had been looking at the hands in his lap, and gasped at what he saw._

 

.:OoO:.

 

January 5, 2009

Remus had been sitting in the library of 12 Grimmauld Place reading while waiting for Sirius to come down from his nap. Ever since picking Harry up from Azkaban, he had had a few sleepless nights due to nightmares, and was currently trying to catch up on lost sleep.

 

Sirius walked into the room and sat down on Remus’s lap, completely obscuring his view of the book.

 

“What should we do with Harry, Remus?” he asked.

 

“That’s up to you, Siri. But I would follow him until the ends of the earth if you or he asked me to.”

 

Sirius seemed to think over before echoing Remus’s sentiments.

 

Remus hugged Sirius close and kissed him. “So,” he said. “It’s decided then. We’ll go to his hideout tomorrow and see if he’ll take us, even after what we did to him.

 

.:OoO:.

Albus was having a bad few days. This had all started when he had brought Harry back from Azkaban. First, Ronald had gone missing. Then the twins and Harry had left. Then Ginevra had gone missing. And, Tom’s attacks had slowed down as well, making Albus suspicious of more attacks soon.

  
So, Albus called an Order meeting. Everyone was there, and they discussed Tom’s actions. Talk then turned to Harry, and his actions of late.

 

“He was supposed to save us,” Kingsley said. “Why isn’t he doing what he was made for? Why has he been helping V-V- You-Know-Who and not killing him?!”

 

“I do not know, Kingsley. But he seems to be doing as he pleases, and not what we taught him to do. Not doing what is right.”

 

“We just need to figure out what he wants, then give it to him,” said Kingsley. A chorus of agreement rose from the Order.

 

It was then that Remus spoke up. **“Perhaps this is a man you don’t fully understand… A long time ago,** during the lull in between the wars, **I was in Burma. My friends and I were working with the local government. They were trying to buy the loyalty of tribal leaders by bribing them with precious stones. But their caravans were being raided in a forest north of Rangoon by a bandit. So we went looking for the stones. But in six months, we never met anyone who had traded with him. One day I saw a child playing with a ruby the size of a tangerine. The bandit had been throwing the stones away.”**

 

Kingsley looked at him with an expression of pure bewilderment. **“So why steal them?”**

 

Remus looked him in the eye **. “Well, because he thought it was good sport. Because some men aren’t looking for anything logical, like money. They can’t be bought, bullied, reasoned or negotiated with. Some men just want to watch the world burn.”**

 

.:OoO:.

 

**Bold** is from _The Dark Knight_ , spoken in the movie by Alfred Pennyworth (what is said by Remus) and Bruce Wayne (what is said by Kingsley)

 

A/N: SOOOO, I am VERY sorry about the length of this chapter. This is just meant to be a filler to show Siri’s and Remy’s loyalties and to use the quote in italics.

 

So, what did Draco see last chapter? Will Harry accept Sirius and Remus? Read on and find out! (But what Draco saw probably won’t be revealed until the last chapter/epilogue.)


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